The Devil Incarnate (The Devil of Ponong series #2) (17 page)

QuiTai’s forehead furrowed. “But they were Thampurians?
Could you have mistaken another race? The Li, the Ponongese, and Thampurians
look quite a bit alike from a distance, despite our obvious differences.”

LiHoun didn’t seem convinced. “I think we know of all the
Thampurian colonies and continental races. They sounded like Captain Voorus,
not posh accents like Kyam Zul. Not that they spoke much, but I heard enough to
convince me they’re Thampurian.”

“I don’t like this. It’s as if...” She shook her head. This
was no time to jump to a conclusion, but the facts seemed to support the
scenario that unfolded before her. She had to get it right though, so she would
force herself to approach it methodically.

Why would someone from Thampur meddle with Levapur’s
insignificant economy? It wasn’t as if Ponong were a valuable colony.
Jellylanterns were a good, solid business, like rice, but most of the profit
came from the jellylantern factories in Thampur. Ponong just supplied the
bioluminescent jellies.

Could the soldiers
be in Levapur because of the harbor? It was the biggest and most protected
harbor in the archipelago, a good place to stop for fresh water and food before
sailing through the Ponong Fangs, but a large junk could conceivably carry
enough provisions to sail the long way around the island chain. A smaller junk
with a reckless captain could bypass the harbor, sail through the Fangs, and
pray he reached the Li Islands before his water barrels emptied. But why would
they have to? The Thampurians already controlled the harbor. The only thing
they had to worry about was some other country wresting it from their grasp.
That struck her as a remote possibility, unless the unsettling rumors in her
friend’s letters and the continental newspapers were true.

Frustrated, she
growled. That couldn’t be it.

So why would someone
from Thampur waste money stirring up trouble on Ponong?

If this were an invasion by a foreign power, she could
understand them taking over the other Thampurian colony, the Li Islands. It was
far more profitable. Much as Ponong was the only place green light medusozoa
could live, the Li Islands were the only known source of juam nut oil, which
powered everything from the lamps vapor addicts used to cook black lotus to the
engines that powered the funiculars that climbed Ponong’s steep slopes to the
plantations.

And those secret engines
aboard the
Golden Barracuda.

She shook her head again. The soldiers were in Ponong, not
the Li Islands. It couldn’t be someone from Thampur behind the trouble, because
it made no logical business sense to stir up trouble in your own colony.
Besides, why would anyone pay soldiers to ruin such a small economy? She might
not like the Thampurians, but she appreciated their business acumen. So it
couldn’t be someone from Thampur. The person who brought the new soldiers to
Thampur had to be here on the island, and it had to be part of some personal
vendetta. It still wasn’t logical, and it was certainly an expensive way to
wreck havoc, but if there was one thing she’d learned about Thampurians in
Levapur, it was that they’d go to any length, or expense, over petty, stupid
little power struggles. But who was fighting whom?

And there she was again, acting as if her ideas were facts.
Kyam Zul had scolded her about that often enough. Of course, she’d been right
every time. This time, though, she was going to wait for evidence.

She clasped her head in her hands. “Illogical behavior makes
my brain weep.” She drew a deep breath through her nose. There was no profit in
that train of thought. Time to focus on current problems. “So. Voorus
unfortunately put you under Colonel Zul’s employ, and Colonel Zul caught you
observing the soldiers...” She gestured for LiHoun to continue his story.

“Then he asked me to pass his message to the Devil.”

“What does he profit by warning me?”

LiHoun stared at her
as if incredulous. Several times, he seemed on the verge of saying something,
but he held himself back. Finally, he spoke. “The Zul clan is devious.”

“So I’ve heard.”
There was nothing she could do except keep a few steps ahead of him. “I guess I
should count myself lucky that I only have to worry about Kyam. I’m not sure
I’d fare as well against Grandfather Zul.”

LiHoun gasped.

Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him. “Are you ill, uncle?”

“Gas.” LiHoun beat his fist against his chest until he
belched. “His exact words: ‘I’d prefer you tell his concubine what I have to
say. Someone paid Petrof the werewolf to kill her. I don’t think he’s succeeded
– yet. He must be stopped.’”

Had he just changed the subject? She hated that flicker of
doubt, but she would remember it. “Anything else?”

“He said, ‘Tell the Devil that if she dies, I will hold him
personally responsible for failing to protect her. If she dies, I will come
after him.’ Then he left. He has not sought me out since.”

QuiTai groaned. The Oracle should have warned her that Kyam
Zul was a romantic; but then, she was her own Oracle. She should have put the
pieces together because the clues had always been there.

“Just like old times
at PhaJut’s.” LiHoun laughed so hard that he fell into a prolonged, phlegmy
coughing spell. That explained why LiHoun teased her about Kyam. He wanted to
know if she had feelings for the Thampurian. Such nerve!

“Every time I decide
he’s a thoroughly jaded debauch, he manages to lose my esteem.” She tsk-tasked.
“He’s a foolish little brother.” That, she thought, should be enough to stop
LiHoun’s ill-advised inquires about her affections.

LiHoun laughed and
coughed until his face was flushed with the effort to draw a breath.

“Do you need tea, uncle?”

He waved his hand. “No. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Then may we talk business now? Thank you. Please
bring me the purple and black box from my safe house near PhaJut’s place.” She
rose. “I’ve worn out my welcome with the Rhi, and I can’t conduct business from
here. I need to talk to my lieutenants directly. I need information. I need to
look at something other than the inside of this damned apartment or I will go
insane.” She flicked her braid over her shoulder. “But most of all, I need to
walk through the streets of Levapur and observe for myself.”

“The soldiers will probably arrest you the moment you’re
seen.”

“That’s why I need my purple and black box. And darkness.
The moment the sun sets, my convalescence ends.”

~ ~ ~

After the first day of the Ponongese market, RhiLan thought
perhaps QuiTai had wasted her money. Few merchants turned around and spent the
money she gave them. Although she’d protested, QuiTai gave her more to spend
this morning. Still, merchants had been cautious. But after the sky cleared,
more people came to shop, and many were buying. It was almost like a festival. Basket
women called out their wares as they moved through the crowd. Even the people
of Old Levapur came out of their shacks to enjoy the afternoon.

Without Thampurians around, everyone could speak Ponongese
without fear of being beaten. Her children sat enraptured by a story teller who
related the traditional tale of the fisherman and the moon goddess. She
realized they’d never heard it before. All they learned in school were the
colorless Thampurian stories about their gods and heroes.

She needed to tell
those stories to her children. Like most Ponongese adults, she had memorized
them the first time she heard them, but her children were so used to reading
from a book that they didn’t bother to keep the stories in their hearts. Ma’am
Thun didn’t encourage them to memorize anything. Before long, there wouldn’t be
a Ponongese left who could remember news and relate it faithfully word for
word. Why the Thampurians didn’t teach that skill she’d never understand. They
were a mysterious, and often foolish, people.

 
The storyteller came to the end of one
story and began another.

“I haven’t heard
that one in ages,” RhiLan said wistfully.

 
Her man laughed. “Your favorite.” He
took her basket of sarongs and gestured for her to join to audience. “Have
fun.”

She flashed a wide smile at him before picking her way
through the crowd to squat next to her children.

~ ~ ~

Ma’am Thun glanced
over her shoulder as she traveled through back alleyways near the town square.
She suspected many Thampurians would shop at the new Ponongese marketplace, but
like them, she didn’t want to be seen. As a precaution, she’d worn her mourning
veil.

She’d eaten eggs and rice for dinner the night before, and
for breakfast. She didn’t mind it in the morning, but it disturbed her sense of
correctness to eat such an informal dish after sundown. It simply wasn’t done.

Unhappily, she sensed that the longer she stayed in Levapur,
the more she lost of her Thampurianness. In the heat and humidity, it bubbled
and flaked away like paint on the buildings. In its place, strange allowances
took hold, and you could only try to hold onto who you used to be before you
started letting things slip.

By now, I probably can’t
go back to Thampur, ever. I’ve been corrupted in so many little ways that I won’t
even realize how wrong I’ve become until I see that horrified expression on the
faces of old friends. And of course they’ll be sympathetic, and pretend not to
see, but the whispers will start, and I’ll never be accepted even if I never
make another error.

Ma’am Thun was actually quite pleased by that thought. It
relieved her of the duty of wanting to return to Thampur. Every other
Thampurian in Levapur spoke wistfully of their return from disgrace. It drove
them to excess drink, suicide, or black lotus as they obsessed on senseless
schemes to win forgiveness. How freeing it was to say, “I can’t go back, so I
might as well stop making myself miserable.”

Why would she ever want to go back? Her husband, a man of
vicious temper, had had the nerve to die under questionable circumstances. It
had looked like an accident. It had been an accident, if falling into a canal
while drunk and drowning rather than shifting into his sea dragon form could be
called an accident rather than abysmal stupidity. But upon his death, his
family had cut a funeral shroud for him of such fine character that the word
murder was whispered, and gazes had shifted in her direction. What could her
family do then but put her on a ship headed for Levapur? They’d salvaged their
name at her expense. She suspected that many other Thampurians in Levapur could
tell similar tales of abandonment for the sake of honor if they ever broke
 
the taboo of discussing their exile.

That prohibition against mentioning their pasts worked in
her favor. In Levapur, she was the gracious lady who tried to help the
unfortunate Ponongese by educating their children, not a suspected murderess.
Certainly she would never be invited to dine with the governor or have lunch
with the wives of the rigid upper cast of society, but that discrimination was
exactly the same as she would have faced in Thampur. There was comfort in the
pretense of normality. What wasn’t normal, for Thampurians, was the awe and
respect afforded to her by the Ponongese. She quite liked that. It was much
easier to accept her position in society as long as it was clear that there
were people below her, people who could never rise.

It wasn’t that she hated the Ponongese. She never called them
snakes, not out loud. She had a fondness for their simplicity, their innocence,
their desire to please her. They asked for her advice, although she knew they
rarely took it. They made sure their children behaved properly and apologized
profusely if they didn’t. That was more respect than her husband or family had
ever shown her.

She peered around the wall of the bank that sat on the edge
of the town square. The white sliding doors to the balcony on the third floor
of the government building looked like scowling eyes under the heavy brows of
the roofline. If she’d been the fanciful sort, she would have stretched the
likeness of an angry father to the entrance portico’s columns and thought of
them as bared red teeth. She wasn’t that fanciful, although she couldn’t shake
the feeling that the government watched the virtually empty town square and all
who might pass through it. If only the marketplace had been its usual chaotic
mash of noise and smells and people, one could cross it to the road to Old
Levapur without being seen; but then if the marketplace had been there, no one
would have reason to go to Old Levapur to shop.

That, she decided, summed up life in Levapur perfectly.

Ma’am Thun squared
her shoulders before marching forth on the town square. There were more monkeys
than people to be seen. It seemed as if Thampurians had decided to buy their
rice, pork, and jellylanterns in the shops rather than marketplace stalls.

How very Thampurian of us to shun what others
are shunning simply because others seem to be shunning it and never, ever pause
to wonder what started it
.

Still, she held onto the bottom hem of her mourning veil so
it wouldn’t fly up as she quickly passed by the few stalls that were left. The
merchants didn’t even bother to call out to her. Everyone had given up.

She felt much less exposed when she reached the road to Old
Levapur. On one side, a steeply ascending orange, black, and white streaked
sandstone cliff. Odd formations in the sandstone that looked like wax spires
that had melted and dripped were occasionally traversed by a thick vine, and
tenacious air-rooted flowers clung where they could. The other side of the road
dropped off so sharply that she could have leaned over and touched the tops of
trees. The funicular tracks to the harbor were somewhere below.